Was there a weariness there, Felix had wondered, because he knew from long practice there were procedural questions he had to go through, but expected little from them? There were odd ones that Felix thought about afterwards: Did Hansi use any word except sleep? Can Hansi tell time? Did he make any other gestures? Did he point at places?

Felix had counted five police cars at one time, along with the wagon, and a big Mercedes commercial van that had two windows high up on one side. It was like a survey crew, with the markings and the tape and the screen they put up around the bodies. A generator had been started and flood lamps brought into the woods. Flashes went off every now and then. A movie set? A lot of guys in suits standing around, three one woman included in the white jumpsuits and hats, who later shed them (including, to Gebhart’s keen interest, the woman technician) like chrysalises at the back of the van.

Of course there had to be royalty from the Gendarmerie showing up. By two o’clock, it was Pommer, the Gendarmerie kommandant for the district, and his 2-I–C. He had called Gebhart Sepp and he had told Felix that he had done good work. The pat on the shoulder, the direct look, and tight smile had confused Felix. Gebi saved him with a cough: this was one of those rare times when a Gendarminspektor should salute, and do it parade-ground style.

Gendarmerie Kommandant Pommer returned the salute, much pleased, and perhaps even a bit surprised.

“Your father would be proud of you, Inspektor Kimmel.”

“He knows everyone, does Pommer,” he remembered Gebi telling him as the Gendarmerie Kommandant moved off.

“He knew my dad?”

“Everyone, I said. Now Pommer knows you. I’d better keep my eye on this Kimmel kid, I’ll bet he’s thinking. He’s no depp, is Professor Kimmel. At this rate, he’ll be Commissioner soon.”

He and Gebi had stayed until 5:30.